


holding darkness within

by Ias



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fairy Tale Elements, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unsavory things thrive in the absence of light. Something darker comes to inhabit the lonely house in Nan Elmoth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	holding darkness within

**Author's Note:**

  * For [octopus_fool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/gifts).



****As night fell, the time came to bolt up the doors and windows. In Nan Elmoth there was little change of light; the trees devoured it far above, snapping up scraps of sunlight long before they filtered to the forest floor. There were no grasses or bushes down there, nothing save the pale arches of the roots, nestling deep into the wet, dark earth. And though there was no warmth or light of the sun to signal the passing of the day, when night came, every living thing knew it. The forest grew darker—not in light, but in feeling.

Eöl shuttered all the windows and barred them from within, with latches of iron that sat firmly in their wooden holdings. It was a strong house, an old house, built from the wood of the trees which surrounded it. When the branches scraped over the sanded boards of their sisters, they made a sound like fingernails scraping, scraping to get inside. Eöl took no note of them. He was not fanciful. His heart was in the dark metal he wrought, and possessed similar qualities.

If there was a chill to the air that blew through the still glades of Nan Elmoth that night, he did not feel it. If the leaves whispered more fiercely, he did not listen. He closed himself within his house and was not afraid, for there had been many nights, and he expected many more.

It was some time later at night when the knock came—three slow tolls on the wood. Eöl rose from the receipts of Dwarven trade before him and followed the sound to his door. There was no moment of hesitation, no prickle of unease, before he pulled back the bars and flung it open onto the night.

To his eyes, the darkness of the trees might have looked much as they always had. But it was to the woman on his doorstep that his gaze was drawn, and in her light all else was cast in a deeper shadow.

“Who are you?” he asked, in the sharp tones he was accustomed to. Yet a softness was in his eyes as he stared upon the pale face of his visitor, so pale her skin seemed to glow with an internal light. The light of his dwelling was caught at his back, so she stood in his shadow. The eyes that gazed out of that face were black, as black as the night that surrounded the moon; and her garb, which she held about herself with a pale, beautiful hand, was black as well, blacker even than the galvorn he so skillfully crafted. At that, Eöl frowned. He could not explain why, but it seemed to him that her garments should have been white.

“A traveler,” she said in a voice not unlike the hissing of the trees above. “I lost my way.”

Eöl stared at her. There were few that passed the boundaries of his lands without catching his notice. Only creeping things of shadow could have slipped his careful watch. Yet one so fair… surely he could have nothing to fear.

“From where do you come?” he asked, still standing guard in the doorway. He remained behind the threshold, and she did not step forward.

“From many places,” she replied, so softly he wanted to lean forward to capture every word. “From the north, most recently.”

“That is an ill direction.” He stared at her, hard. “Are you of the Noldor?”

Slowly, the woman shook her head. Her eyes were dark, and seemed to have seen much. “I do not hail from any folk,” she said. “But I am cold, and tired, and in need of shelter for the night.” She looked up at him, and the question she asked hung in the air like the taut wire of a trap. “May I enter?”

At that, something in Eöl’s heart twitched with sudden cunning—she was lost, a helpless little lamb gone astray in a dark world, and come so luckily upon his dwelling. He would house her, and clothe her in something finer than that hideous black. He would keep her here as long as he willed, and convince her she willed it as well—he would possess her, if he cared to. And at that moment, he cared to very badly.

“Come,” he said, stepping back to let the light of his home flood over her. “You may stay as long as you desire.”

The woman smiled without opening her mouth. “You are kind to extend such an invitation, my lord.” Yet as he stepped back and the warmth of firelight touched her skin, it seemed something had changed; the bright luminance of her cheek in the darkness became the grey cast of a corpse; the still dark pools of her eyes captured the fire in them, and burned like mad things buried in her skull. The garment she wore was not black at all, but so ancient its original color could not be determined; it was mottled with darker stains, and rent as if by blow of swords.

Even then, Eöl did not feel fear, for it was not in his nature to do so. He merely paused, and wondered at his own hesitation.

“What is your name?” he asked.

The woman stepped across the threshold, as one might cross from a boat onto solid land. When she stood before him in the full light, she smiled at last with her teeth.

“Thuringwethil,” she said, and the door closed behind her.

Some time later, when all was quiet once more, the dark forest was pierced by the lights of many windows, their latches undone and their shutters flown wide, letting the cool air of night breath in. The door stood open. The house was breached by the darkness. And through the open windows, the lights of the house were extinguished, one by one.   

 

 

The dwarves liked the road very little where it passed near Nan Elmoth, but they liked the rich gold the Dark Elf paid with enough to linger a while. They waited at the crossroads, their own road running parallel to the feet of the forest, and the other shooting into it like the path of an arrow. For half a day they waited there, much longer than ever before—yet no dark figure peeled free from the trees and rode towards them, bearing money and trade.

There was some talk of sending a few of their party down the road, just under the branches of the forest, to see if there was any trouble; but the Dwarves had more love of Eöl’s gold than of his person, and there was something ill in the trees as they leaned towards the road. A high-pitched chittering wove among the branches, almost like the song of birds—but occasionally a pair of dark wings would swoop above the tree top, webbed finger beating frantically, before diving into the darkness once more.

The dwarves did not speak of seeking out Eöl for long. They waited, and when he did not come, they accepted the loss of that trade and continued on their way, hurrying out of sight of the shadow of the branches.

Dark eyes watched them go, and allowed it. They were not of interest.

 

 

When the woman in white came riding near the eaves of the forest, she paused near the first of the great grey trees and stood looking into the darkness. Even near the fringes of the forest, the shadows were deep and rich. They did not seem evil to her, though her heart beat faster at the sight. Something about that darkness demanded a light. It challenged her to illuminate the wells of darkness between the tree roots, to cast a light on the pale flesh of the mushrooms that sprouted in the damp gloom.

Aredhel had never been one to turn down a challenge. With a faint smile she guided her horse over the edge of the forest, and beyond. She did not feel the eyes that watched as she rode, her figure as pale as a wavering candle flame in the dark halls of the trees.

Long she journeyed through those corridors, which seemed to warp and shift around her so that no path she travelled was the same when she looked behind her. She turned many times to find her way back, but all ways led in the same direction—deeper into the forest. She was not afraid—not even when some unseen terror spooked her horse, casting her to the ground and sending it running off in a panic. Not even when she felt the prickle on the back of her neck, the intensifying of the shadows that signaled true night falling in this place of eternal night. And no, not even when she glimpsed the house, low and dark with only a faint light burning in its windows, glowing dully like the reflection feral eyes.

She knocked three times. It was long before any answered her call, so long her hand was poised before the door when it slowly opened before her. The room she glimpsed beyond it was dark, lit by the brown-red glow of embers in the grate, with no lamp or lantern to brighten it. And in that darkness a woman stepped from behind the door, half-lit, so the firelight played and lapped at the hollows in her throat and cheeks. Something in Aredhel stilled from the moment their eyes met. Something else stood up and reached out.

“I’m a traveler,” Aredhel said, though her words sounded strange on her tongue. “I lost my way.”

A slow smile dawned on the woman’s lips, seeming to hold a secret within them. “Many things grow lost in these woods, though few of them so fair.” Her voice was soft and low, and settled over Aredhel’s skin like the brush of a kiss on her neck. “Will you come in?”

Aredhel paused. It seemed a vast choice had opened up before her, a fork in the road she might take—The house within was dark, yet the trees and the night were darker. And there was something fey in the glittering eyes that watched her, something she liked very much. A challenge. An invitation. Those eyes pulled her down and devoured her, and all at once Aredhel wanted to be consumed.  

She crossed the threshold. The door shut behind her. And though the hand that guided her deeper into the darkness was as cold as the grave, Aredhel followed, and was not at all unwilling.


End file.
